Parting words From ‘Hold Out Your Arms’

Death stoops over me, Her long skirts slide,

She knows I am shy.

Even the puffed sleeves on my white blouse Embarrass me, She will pick me up and hold me so no one can see me.

I will scrub my hair into hers. There, the iris increases

Note by note As the wall gives back heat.

Death, there’s no need to ask: As you push back my hair – Which could do with a comb But never mind, – You murmur ‘We’re nearly there.’

from Inside the Wave by Helen Dunmore, published by Bloodaxe Books